


shot to the heart

by Lire_Casander



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - White Collar Fusion, Attempt at Humor, M/M, Mentions of gunshots, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24285493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lire_Casander/pseuds/Lire_Casander
Summary: fbi agent carlos reyes didn’t think heʼd ever see art thief master tk strand this soon
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58





	shot to the heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oleanna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oleanna/gifts).



> Prompt: **Tarlos White Collar AU with TK as the former thief/informant and Carlos as the detective. Enemies to friends to lovers with opportunities for angst and hurt/comfort.** I'm not sure this is what you were looking for, anon, but I've tried my best!
> 
> Title is a translation of _Disparo Al Corazón_ by Ricky Martin.
> 
> Beta'ed by the always amazing [meloingly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meloingly). Thanks a lot for your help with this!

The first time Carlos Reyes catches TK Strand, he’s sentenced to twenty years at a maximum-security prison in Colorado. Carlos had been chasing after him for months — following every single clue he could find, learning about his habits and his quirks — until TK had been right under his nose and Carlos had been able to frame him with an art heist attempt at the MET. Needless to say, TK Strand hadn’t seemed happy to be cuffed and thrown to jail to rot, and he’d had some colorful expletives to share with Carlos on his way to get his measures taken for an orange jumpsuit.

The second time Carlos catches TK, he can’t believe he’s back at square one of this game of chase he began one fateful night four years ago. 

“You can’t tell me Strand escaped from ADX Florence,” he says carefully, searching Michelle’s face for the sign that it’s all a joke. “It isn’t April’s Fools, is it?”

“I wouldn’t dare to joke about this,” Michelle tells him, face completely stony. “Strand managed to escape ADX Florence, and we need your help to find him.”

“I remember distinctly Marwani and Chavez saying that I would _never_ go back on the field because of what happened last time Strand went on the loose,” he points out. He doesn’t want to be here, sitting across Michelle’s FBI office and staring down at the thick folder on top of the table. “How on Earth did you get clearance to have me back?”

“Let’s say I didn’t,” Michelle confesses. She leans in, hands holding her head as she looks straight at him. “You’re our best option to catch him. You did that once. You can do it again.”

“How long since he went MIA?” Carlos has to ask, before he can smell trouble from a mile away from this case, and Michelle has never been able to lie to him. “Just tell me, chica.”

“A week,” she whispers. “He’s vanished, okay? Nothing we’ve done has worked. You know him inside and out, you studied his every move back in the day. Plus, it could be a distraction from—”

“Don’t even dare to say it,” Carlos cuts her off. He’s not ready to talk about the reasons why he’s taken time off the Bureau, apart from his stunt with Strand and the doubtful ways Carlos used to catch him. It has nothing to do with Strand and the offer he’s weighing right now, and he doesn’t really want to have this heart to heart with Michelle at their workplace. “You need my help, you get it. But just this case. Once we catch the guy, Iʼm off once again.”

“Whatever you want, Carlos,” she acquiesces. “But just, find him. My head is pending on this.”

Carlos needs three days to locate Strand, and when he finally finds him, he wishes he’d arrived sooner.

TK is lying on the filthy floor of an apartment that’s seen better days, unconscious, surrounded by a stack of pills that could knock a horse out when Carlos and an assorted team of agents burst into the living room. Carlos rushes to him, refusing to freak out when he checks TK’s pulse and find none. He barks out orders, asking for an ambulance he knows won’t be there on time.

“Don’t you dare die on me, Strand,” he mutters angrily into the thief’s hair as Carlos holds him, trying to revive TK with harsh compressions. “Where’s that damned ambulance?”

“Incoming!” says a male voice from the entrance. When Carlos looks up, he sees a few paramedics stepping into the living room. “Give me the narcan! Now!” the same man commands to one of his team members, reaching out and grabbing the needle.

Carlos looks away when the needle hits TK’s skin, entering swiftly, and he focuses back into his suspect once he hears the sharp intake of breath from someone who’s coming back to life.

He reads TK his rights on the ride to the hospital, the thief cuffed to the side of the gurney, looking unfazed as he lies on top of the white sheet, seemingly unrepentant.

* * *

“You have to be kidding me,” Carlos says on his first day back after his long leave, when he enters his office at the Bureau and finds TK Strand of all people sitting on his chair, feet propped up on his desk, flashing his trademarked one million dollar smirk. “Blake!” he exclaims, sticking his head out of the door and calling for his friend. “Michelle Blake, come here immediately!”

“I can sense you’re distressed, Agent Reyes,” Strand has the gall to chirp up, swirling the chair when he puts his feet down on the floor. Carlos can see the flashing light of an anklet attached to his leg, a device to have him located at all times. “Didn’t you like your homecoming gift?”

“If that’s some sort of code, I’m not interested, Strand,” Carlos barks out, pointing a finger at the thief. “I don’t know how you’ve managed to enter the building, but you’re going out right this moment.”

“You can’t kick me out!”

“It’s my office, I can do whatever I want,” Carlos retaliates sharply. “I don’t care what kind of deal you agreed to so you could be out of prison, but I don’t want _you_ near me. Last time you cost me my on-field privileges.”

“Oh, did it sting?” TK says wistfully. “Poor Agent Reyes, bound to a desk for months on end. And then that job went awry last year, I bet you’re still licking at your wounds from that.”

“Shut the hell up, Strand,” Carlos says through gritted teeth. “It’s none of your business. And don’t get comfortable. You’re not staying here for long.”

“I guess he is, actually,” Michelle informs him, walking up from the corridor and startling Carlos, who has been facing TK while they exchanged jabs. “He’s your new consultant, Reyes. Since you’ve been assigned once again to the heist division, you’re going to need some help. It’s not debatable.”

Carlos wants to throw a tantrum, but he knows he can’t show any weakness in front of TK Strand. The thief might use it to his advantage — Carlos knows how his psyche works — and it seems they’re going to be trapped together.

“We have to trust those who work with us, Michelle,” he complains, reigning in his voice. “I can’t trust him to cross the street without trying to steal someone’s wallet, much less with my _life_.”

“He’ll be just a consultant,” Michelle insists. Carlos shakes his head, glancing briefly at TK who’s looking back at him petulantly. “I promise you he wonʼt get in your way.” 

Carlos shoots her an incredulous look. Heʼs yet to find a consultant for the FBI whoʼs had a past as an art thief, and a mission that isn’t dangerous for those involved, even if theyʼre just people hired to help them with desk jobs. 

“Fine,” he relents. TK lets out a laugh, and Carlos whines as low as he can. 

He knows theyʼre going to encounter more problems than the ones theyʼre going to solve — TK Strand has always been a magnet for trouble, although Carlos would have thought that his time in prison might have tamed him. 

“But this is my office,” he states, knocking on his desk. “This is my desk. Find yourself someone else to bother while I enjoy being back.” 

Michelle clears her throat pointedly, making Carlos focus on her once again. When he takes in her expression, he steps back and crosses his arms. “Spit it, chica,” he urges her. “God, why do you always have to do this? Just tell me everything at once. Rip the bandaid in one go.” 

“Mr. Strand doesn’t have a place to stay,” she begins. “And with the salary the Bureau can pay, he wonʼt be able to afford rent in his ankletʼs range.” 

“No,” he says. Maybe if he refuses with enough strength, his plea will be heard. “Donʼt you dare.” 

“Order comes from up high,” Michelle explains. “Seems you have a new roommate, Reyes.” 

“I hate you.” 

“You love me,” she says as she turns around to leave. “Iʼll leave you to get acquaintanced as partners and roommates.” 

Carlos watches as she retreats to her own office, leaving him alone with Strand. He shakes his head stubbornly, even though he knows that there’s no way out of this for him. 

“So, roommate, huh?” Strand says, but Carlos silences him by stomping his feet on the ground. 

“Enough,” he says sternly. “I donʼt want to hear a single word. Be quiet. And remain quiet when you stay at my home.” 

“Itʼs going to be—” 

“Enough,” Carlos repeats. 

“Duly noted,” TK mutters, standing up from the chair when Carlos approaches the desk. 

Carlos canʼt imagine how things could have gone worse.

* * *

They work surprisingly well together. Carlos has to reluctantly admit it — once TK begins to accompany him on the field, the cases start being resolved in half the time. It pains him to agree with Michelle on this particular issue, but heʼs adult enough to know when heʼs been mistaken. 

That doesn’t mean TK needs to know. 

TK is a natural at deceiving people, and he quickly becomes a great resort in their cases. Michelle tells Carlos that other FBI agents have requested TKʼs services, and that she can’t really refuse since TK is officially the FBIʼs, not his own person any longer. 

Carlos had to learn to work without TK for a while, and he would have never guessed what heʼd miss more about the pain in the ass that is TK Strand. 

TK has a small tick when heʼs nervous. He doesn’t want to admit it, because it would mean heʼs not the perfect thief his legend says he is, but Carlos has noticed that TK tends to smile tight whenever heʼs uncomfortable and he taps his fingers on the nearest surface, always the same melody — a fierce staccato that resonates within Carlos. 

He’s waiting on TK one night — the night that marks a year since Peter took his things and fled — having already polished half of a bottle of wine, when he hears the front door opening. TK enters the living room and chuckles when he sees Carlos in such a state. 

“Iʼm going to believe you have a problem with alcohol,” he jokes, shedding the jacket and taking a seat in front of Carlos. 

“Sometimes I need to unwind.” Carlosʼ words come out slurred. 

“Yeah, well, letʼs unwind in the shower and then in bed, okay?” TK suggests as he loops an arm around Carlosʼs waist and helps him up. 

“You’re going to leave, just like Peter did,” Carlos laments. He stumbles upon his own feet while TK tries to drag him towards the bathroom. 

“I donʼt know who Peter is,” TK whispers. 

“Donʼt act surprised, lying doesn’t suit you,” Carlos tells him. “Funny how a thief canʼt lie.” 

“I know Peter was your fiancé,” TK confesses. Theyʼve reached their destination, and TK is trying to get Carlos out of his shirt. “Iʼm sorry he left.” 

“Iʼm not,” Carlos lists to the side as he speaks. TKʼs hands catch him before he hits the sink. “He wanted to go. I was just convenient for a while. But you wouldn’t know, would you? Mr. Flirty himself. The only time Iʼve seen you down was when we almost lost you on that apartment of doom.” 

TK doesn’t say anything in a long time, just helping him shower and then tucking him into the bed. Carlos is about to fade into slumber when he hears those words that heʼs been waiting to hear. 

“I just went through a really bad break up. Like, nuclear bad. Thatʼs why I wanted to die that night,” he whispers when he thinks Carlos is asleep, but Carlos is too hyped up by alcohol to actually do just that. “Iʼm so glad you found me when you did.” 

Carlos wants to retaliate, but when he opens his eyes — reveling in the way TK flinches when he realizes that Carlos has heard everything — TK is looking at him with such an open gaze that Carlos feels naked in front of him. 

“Sleep, Carlos,” he mutters. 

“Stay?” Carlos should hate how needy he sounds, but heʼs found out he can be vulnerable with TK Strand around. 

“Scoot over, then. I need my space.” 

Carlos doesn’t think whether heʼs dreamed it or not, but he feels an arm flying over his side, a hand pinning him in place, and a soft breath beside him that lull him to sleep in no time at all.

* * *

The first time they wake up together in the same bed, Carlos blames it on the alcohol — they had been celebrating yet another successful arrest, and Carlos might have drunk one or ten too many beers, although he hasnʼt seen TK touch anything that wasnʼt his glass of water.

But Carlos had been drunk. Thatʼs the only plausible explanation. 

The second time, he isn’t so sure. 

He’s sucked in by those green eyes reading his soul, and he canʼt stop himself. He has to touch, he has to lick, he has to _feel_. TK is so pliant underneath his fingers, moaning and shaking and writhing, a puppet in Carlos’ hands. 

The rush of power that surges through him dies the second he realizes he isn’t more than a means to an end for TK — heʼs just the source of legality he needs to clean his name. Carlos isn’t someone TK could fall for. 

Too bad heʼs already deep into the abyss that is falling in love with a thief turned to the bright side. 

TK is addictive — Carlos has never touched a drug in his life, but he thinks this must be how it feels. The high. The need. The trip. 

It hurts him when TK doesn’t seem to acknowledge that whatever they have going on is different. He goes out one night, after a particularly rough day at work where they hadlost one of their assets in one undercover mission, and Carlos doesn’t even think of following him. 

The next thing he knows is that the sensor in TKʼs anklet goes off, alarms blaring in his multiple devices linked to the Bureau, and he has to pick TK up outside of the police station. 

“You know, you could be sent back to prison for this,” he tries to make him understand.

TK simply looks straight ahead. 

“Listen, Iʼm not trying to be your boyfriend,” he tries again. “Or your friend, if youʼre not into it. But you should talk to someone about why you felt compelled to do something so suicidal.” 

TK doesn’t say anything. He’s as stubborn as Carlos, and he doesn’t say anything the whole ride home. But when they reach Carlosʼ condo, TK sighs before stepping out of the car. 

“You donʼt know a thing about me, Reyes,” he mumbles. “You canʼt save me.” 

And with that he gets out of the car and into the house, leaving Carlos with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

They don’t speak about it ever again. TK stops questioning him about the people in the pictures loitering around the place, and he stops showing concern for him. 

TK never gets into another bar brawl, but he changes completely. Carlos begins to miss his strut in the mornings, the nonchalantly way of wearing borrowed suits he picks up from Carlosʼ closet, the small huff that escapes his lips whenever TK was reading some outrageous news on the newspaper. 

He chastises himself for being so weak, but short of kicking himself in the head to try and forget about TK Strand, Carlos can do nothing to stop himself from loving him.

* * *

The bullet hits TK square in the chest. All Carlos can do is follow him as he falls to the ground, a yelp dying in his lips when he realizes whatʼs happened. 

“Iʼm sorry,” TK says, words coming out choppily. 

“Hey, save your breath, Strand,” Carlos instructs. “The ambulance will be here any minute. Youʼre going to be fine.” 

“Iʼm sorry I went crazy on you, in the beginning,” TK keeps talking, and heʼs losing so much blood that heʼs starting to faint. “Iʼm sorry I didn’t tell you before that I—” 

“Hush now,” Carlos pulls TK onto his lap, the two of them sliding onto the floor. “Youʼll tell me, once youʼre fit for duty once again.” 

“Fit for duty?” TK coughs as he speaks, and it breaks Carlos. 

“Of course. Youʼre FBI now. Canʼt waste all this talent.” 

TK manages to choke in a laugh, his consciousness fading quickly, and Carlos begs to all deities he knows about for them to save TK. Carlos doesn’t know what heʼd do without TK. 

It dawns on him, with the clarity heʼs been missing all these years. 

He’s fallen for TK Strand. 

And TK Strand is dying in his arms. 

The ride to the hospital and the never-ending wait for news is a blur in Carlosʼ memory. He doesn’t register anything until he feels a hand on his shoulder. When he looks up, he sees Michelle holding out a paper cup to him. 

“Any news?” 

“Nothing.” Carlos takes the offered cup and sips from it, grimacing when he tastes the bad coffee from the machine. “Iʼm scared, Michelle. I canʼt lose him.” 

“I should have seen it coming,” Michelle muses. “I still donʼt know how it got past me.” 

“What are you talking about?” Carlos raises an eyebrow at her, waiting for her reply. 

“TK and you,” she says simply. “Itʼs so evident. Youʼre in love with him.” 

“Evident?” Carlos feels his cheeks burning with shame. He should have hidden it better — what if TK has noticed too? 

“Donʼt fret, Carlos. He loves you too.” 

Before Carlos can say anything in retaliation, a doctor enters the waiting room and calls for TK Strandʼs family. He tells them that TK is out of risk, that heʼll make a full recovery, and that they can visit him, but only one at a time. 

Michelle lets him enter first. 

Carlos is taken aback by the number of machines TK is hooked to, the incessant beeping too much for him. He focuses on the man on the bed, pale and so small against the white of the aseptic room. 

“You’re awake,” he greets. TK attempts a smile at him but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. His voice sounds rough, probably from the intubation and the procedures. 

“Are you serious? Are _you_ okay? You pushed me out of that bulletʼs way! What were you thinking?” 

Carlos has reached the bed while heʼs been talking, out of breath and panting when he grasps the bars of the bed. He looks into TKʼs green eyes, willing himself to get lost in that gaze — to drown in that ocean and never come back up to the mainland. 

“I donʼt know. I didn’t think,” TK fidgets with the sheets, crumpling it for a moment before Carlos reaches out and steers his movement. “I just knew I couldn’t bear to live a life without you in it. I couldn’t let you die.” 

Carlos allows the tears to fall down at TKʼs words, and he intertwines his fingers with TKʼs on top of the sheets. 

“Now you understand why I couldn’t let you die,” he dares to say, emboldened by the unspoken words heʼs heard in TKʼs voice. “I donʼt think I can live my life without you either.” 

“Carlos—” 

“We make a pretty good team, donʼt we?” Carlos interrupts him. 

TK chokes out a laugh that comes out strangled, but he squeezes Carlosʼ hand in his before replying, “Afraid so.” 

And for the first time in what feels like eons, Carlos allows his heart to take over his head and he leans in, dropping a chaste kiss on TKʼs lips. The thief tries to deepen the kiss, but Carlos pulls back and rests his forehead against TKʼs. 

“Donʼt do this to me ever again.” 

“Duly noted.”


End file.
